


Father complex

by XSayuriX



Series: Amaranthine [6]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Dark Past, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 02:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20220055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XSayuriX/pseuds/XSayuriX
Summary: A certain someone is having flashbacks as he is looking at an old photograph, remembering one of the most crucial moments of his life...A little later, said someone will come to make peace with his own feelings, thanks to his significant other.





	1. Little Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Back with another little story which was originally supposed to be a one-shot but then I changed my mind!  
I might as well change a few tags in between, this is the first work I am not entirely sure about how to tag and what information to include :,)  
Anyways, I hope you can enjoy this little piece so far! (I did some research as well XD)

His eyes followed a trace around the golden frame, carefully analysing the ornaments engraved into the golden painted wood. The frame looked old, part of the paint had started to fade, flaking around the corners. The glass which was held by the frame, keeping the picture behind it safe, had been broken many times. Traces of glue protruded between several cracks, thin lines trailing along the surface.  
Ironically, the demolished appearance came close to an analogy of what the picture itself showed. Long-lost hope, a broken father-son-relationship, hidden behind layers of fading fake perfection; layers to hide the cancer that had grown in this relationship over decades, layers to play pretend, keep up the façade of perfection. 

*

“Son, come to me.”

“Yes, dad!” The little boy stumbled down the stairs as soon as he heard his father’s voice. The day had come, the day everyone had been talking about. His excitement had kept him awake all night, his stomach literally hurt as he spurted into the kitchen, proud smile and shiny eyes.

“No, son. It is ‘Yes, sir!’. Conviction and respect.” The boy stood tall in front of his father, even though he was only half his height. A nearly unnoticeable smile flashed across his father’s lips as he watched his son with pride. The day had come, it was time.  
“Now, where is your sister?”

“She’s still in the bathroom, da- sir! Bathroom, _sir_!” He didn’t dare to look him in the eyes, didn’t dare to see his reaction. If there was something that man despised entirely it was tardiness and – even though nobody quite understood how – his little sister had a habit of being tardy.

The man’s face turned entirely emotionless, cold like stone. His hands were clenched to fists and his chest swelled at his shuddering breath, his nostrils dilated. The boy knew that posture, he knew that look and it made a shiver run down his spine. If there was something he was utterly terrified of, it was his father’s anger and rage.  
With a hauntingly calm, yet sharp exhale, the man opened his mouth – and what followed could be compared to the sound of rolling thunder over an old wooden cottage, unprotected, about to shatter at the pure sound of it.

“MADELINE!” One sharp shout, only one, and everything went silent. The glimpse of a moment later, a little girl, only about five years old, stumbled down the stairs with trembling knees and tears running down her cheeks as if the blue ponds ended in waterfalls. She fell to her knees right in front of her father, whimpering and whining, no clear words as she was too scared.  
The boy didn’t blame her, in reality, he felt extremely sorry for her and only wanted to protect her from that terrifying rage; but he didn’t dare to disobey his father. He had to stand tall and act by command. There was no time for pity, no time for compassion.  
“Madeline. Why are you late?”

“I’m sorry, daddy, I-!”

“QUIET. I did not ask for excuses, I asked for an explanation.” Something about that sharp, cutting voice and that cold look in his eyes told the boy that his father was not willing to be forgiving. There was no emotion, no love. No love…  
His little sister was still on her knees, crying her eyes out, her whole body was shaking. Fear had taken over, fear was everything she felt, fear in her eyes, in her limbs, in her thin voice.

“Daddy, I-I…” A hiccup interrupted her already cracking voice, followed by a disapproving grunt from her father. She was in trouble, that was for sure.

“Enough. Wipe away those tears, they make you ugly. Be late to the ceremony and you won’t even have to come. I cannot allow any more disappointments, you already are a disgrace. Now, go.” Without another word, the little girl took off, trembling and squealing in agony and fear. Her mother was waiting for her in the living room, hidden from the cynical glare of her husband when she gently tried to reassure her daughter. She didn’t like what her husband did to their children but she couldn’t act against it. There was no way to resist, all she could do was tell their children to be obedient and modest at any time.

His little heart was aching when the boy had to watch his sister’s pain. He couldn’t stand it when his father became uncontrollably furious but he had to obey, he had to stand tall, not give in. After all, it was his day and Madeline had disappointed their father.

“Soldier, attention!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Outside. Steady pace, stand tall.”

“Yes, sir!” The little boy tried to follow a hypothetical beat in his mind to keep his pace as rhythmical and consistent as possible. His father had made him practice the walk outside for hours and hours with a rhythm and a metronome, every time he had missed a beat the man started shouting ‘WRONG! AGAIN! AGAIN!’ all the time. No matter what conditions he was put into, pouring rain, rolling thunder, no matter if his legs were burning because of the pain, the tension in his muscles. His father had always been ruthless.

Outside, a respective applause could be heard as the boy came to stand At Attention. The group of men that had gathered nodded in his direction, respectively, but somewhat distant. He knew them all, had heard their stories of combat. Once every week his father would invite one of the veterans and ask them to join him for dinner. A lot of whiskey would be drunk that evening, a lot of stories would be told. But shame and dishonour if any of the children would say a single word.

“Son, at ease.” The boy widened his legs slightly and folded his hands behind his back, holding his head up nevertheless. He knew everything, everything he’d have to do. Hours of hours, days after days, he had studied and practiced everything to perfection. The proud look in his father’s cold, grey eyes was worth it.  
From the corner of his eye, the boy saw his little sister approach, accompanied by their mother. Her face had been dried up and her smile had come back. It warmed his heart to see her back at happiness, there was still a part in him that valued the luck and joy of his sister, even though they had never been the closest siblings.  
“Good morrow, fellow soldiers! Today is the day we had all been waiting for. In fact, I have been waiting for this day ever since this little fella has been born seven years ago!”

Another round of respective applause, one supportive cheer – nothing compared to a comedy show, everything serious and strict after all. The ceremony was meant to be just like it would be in every actual inauguration ceremony. It was exciting, it was what he had tried to live up to throughout the past years.

“Gentlemen, this is our future. I am proud to announce the inauguration of my son to build the future. The future we have been longing for, the future humankind shall greet with open arms – The future that will be led by the heroes and martyrs of our bloodlines!” This time, a wave of cheers and supportive shouts from the gathered men. A sheepish, nearly maniacal smile lit the face of their leader. The boy noticed how his father strode towards him, a small wooden knife with a sharp, shining blade in his scarred hand. Instant fear made his heart race faster the closer the man came, he had to swallow the lump in his throat.  
“Son, hold out your hand.”

“Yes, sir!”

“With this blade, you will be incorporated in the brigade of the British Army. With this oath, you will pledge allegiance to the Fifth British Empire. With your blood, you will seal your pride and honour to serve Britain and the Queen.” The boy could feel his heart skip a beat as he heard his father’s words, fear and insecurity growing in his chest. Never had he been told that he would have to give his blood in order to be inaugurated. How come his father had never told him?  
“Open your hand.”

“Yes, sir…” His voice was faint, merely a murmur as he stretched out his palm, a terrified look in his eyes, biting his tongue so he wouldn’t make a noise. His father grasped his son’s hand firmly, squeezing it, though, more with conviction than with love, and placed the blade on the pale skin. He didn’t wait much longer and cut deep into the flesh of his son’s hand, leaving a mess of blood dripping down the boy’s arm as he tried to choke back tears and a scream. The pain was nearly unbearable, he couldn’t stand it much longer and everything was turning around him. The smell of the blood made him feel dizzy.

“You’re dismissed.” Not a second later the boy strode off, holding his bleeding hand with a whimper of pain and embarrassment. The eyes of his little sister followed him, filled with worry and sympathy. She would be the one who’d sit by his bed and dress the wound carefully. She would be the one drying his tears late at night. She would be the one noticing the constant agony in his eyes. Always.

**

He felt his eyes water as his fingers brushed over the small figure on the picture, his past self coldly staring at him like the reflection he had never dared to look at. Despised by himself was this image, despised what he had done to appeal his father’s wishes. What a disgrace.  
Not once had he listened to his own heart, being raised by the military man his father had always been he never dared to think of anything else. Ever since he was able to walk he had learned how to act accordingly, how to behave, what to say. He was bound to become a striking soldier, even as a child.

Madeline had noticed, more than he had noticed it himself, that this was not who he wanted to be. That this had never been who he wanted to become. She had always been there, telling him he would just have to follow his dreams. But he didn’t even know anymore what he dreamt of, he forgot to be anything _but _the soldier he was taught to be.

His eyes were filled with tears, his heart was filled with pain and anger and disappointment. His hands were trembling from the rage he felt rising in his veins, blood pumping, his heart racing. Hatred growing in his chest, filling his sore limbs with a force he had never, never ever felt, becoming stronger and stronger. Hatred towards that one man that had never seen him like a son, never seen him like a boy. Only the little soldier he was bound to become. The little soldier he had always been. His puppet. His little soldier.

*


	2. The Beast Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Trip finds Malcolm furious and overwhelmed, he tries his best to help him fight the demons of his past...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 featuring some dark topics and a bit of sweet comfort, because - why not? I don't like bad endings when it comes to those two sweethearts...  
Also some more information about Mal, his father, Maddy, and yet more references to future Amaranthine-happenings! Enjoy! (Any kind of constructive criticism is fairly appreciated as I struggled with this chapter!)

“Malcolm…?” He turned around at the sound of this familiar voice, grinding his teeth to keep himself from any irrational shout of anger. A sigh of relief escaped his lungs as he saw his lover in the doorframe, cautiously turning on the lights and examining him with worry.  
“What’s wrong…?”

“I…Hate him, Trip…I just hate him so much…” Malcolm’s voice wasn’t much more than a faint hiss, although the pure energy in it was far more disturbing than an actual shout would have ever been. Trip took a few steps towards him, gently brushing his hands over his lover’s tense shoulders. He looked him deep in those stormy grey eyes, saw the anger, the agony, that storm that has been raging inside of him for decades.

“I know you do, Mal…And I’m assuming after all he deserves it…But don’t you see, this is making it only worse for you?” The gentle, loving touch had tamed the beast within, Malcolm leaned into Trip’s strong arms, breathing in his scent, slowly calming down a little. Trip knew very well this wasn’t going to be it, this wasn’t yet over but it was a step into the right direction.  
During the recovery, he had learned a lot about Malcolm’s past and the rather abnormal relationship with his father ever since he had been a child. With all the information in mind, it was a lot easier to understand his lover’s demeanor and attitude towards certain things. However, Trip felt as if he was still in the dark, uncertain about how to understand what this man really had done to Malcolm.

“Maddy called. She said he’s been honored for his _heroic commitment and the sacrifices he made in order to serve The Fifth Empire_. I’d love to say war changed him but frankly? He’s always been a terrible man. All honor to his services but as a father he has failed.” The Brit took a step backwards and shook his head with a wry smile. He wasn’t even bothered, in reality, he didn’t even care that Stuart Reed was rewarded yet another medal. This man surely did deserve it, if only he had never become a father. If only he had never forced his son into a role he never wanted.  
“You know, I thought I was over it. It’s been more than five years that I’ve seen him, talked to him properly. I thought I was free from his strings, I thought I cut them when I left.”

“Mal…”

“Turns out I didn’t. He’s got me after all. Every damn time I look at this picture, I see it all happen again, I _feel _what I felt, I know exactly what I was thinking…Every damn time I pass it I just know he had all control over me.” There was something disturbing behind that calm, monotone sound of his voice; something that Trip couldn’t quite make out yet but he was sure it didn’t mean any good. He reached out to grab his partner’s hand, wanted to squeeze it, hold him tight – but Malcolm pulled away.  
“He’s made my life a living hell and you know what? I didn’t even notice it! I was so bloody proud of everything – _everything – _I had done to please him_. _Not once did I question if I wanted anything else.”

“Malcolm, please…Let’s sit down, just…”

“No. No, Trip, I- I can’t. I know you want me to calm down, talk it through, but here’s the thing: I won’t ever be able to forget. I won’t ever be able to put this behind myself, to-to go and never look back! This crap will stay with me forever, Trip!” The Brit was trembling, his eyes grew cold, so cold…Trip knew that look, he knew exactly that the beast was going wild again and there was no way to stop it. No way to help, just stay there and try to minimize the damage.

“You don’t wanna sit down, alright. But please, let’s talk about this. You can curse him all you want but ain’t nothing’s gonna help when you don’t talk to me.” Trip stemmed his hands into his hips, a daring glare forcing his lover to take a deep breath and comply. Malcolm wanted to deal with it on his own, wanted to drown himself in the past, fight it with his bare hands if he had to. But this was a battle he couldn’t win all by himself, he had to admit.  
“Nobody is doubting your strength and assertiveness in combat, really, but you cannot fight your own past. I know it’s hard to accept that, I still have trouble accepting that I cannot get Lizzie back. And that was only one day in my life, Mal…For you, it’s been years. You can’t fight the shadows of several years…” His heart ached as he saw how torn Malcolm was, how the pain from his past seemed to overwhelm him. In fact, the Brit couldn’t hold back another stream of tears, although his face turned extremely hot only second later, torment and embarrassment clawing at his heart.  
“C’mere, I can’t stand you crying…”

At first, he was reluctant, but then Malcolm gave in and hid his face in his lover’s chest, sobbing, leaving little stains on his uniform. Trip couldn’t help but smile as he felt Malcolm’s hands clinging to his uniform, holding on to him. Even though that stubborn Brit didn’t like showing any weakness at all, not even in front of him, once in a while he’d give in. After all, this sad military man needed a shoulder to cry on, sometimes even more than anyone else.

“He had never treated us well…Maddy was the family disgrace – It already started when he knew she was a girl…Bad combination she tended to be late and unorganized…”

“Gods, she must have suffered with that father then…”

“You can bet your life on it, darling…She did well hiding whenever he was onto her. Most of the time I tried to distract him, asked him for lessons so he’d forget about what she had done…” Trip didn’t quite know how but he got Malcolm to sit down on their bed, hugging him tight. He was glad that he somehow had him calm down at least a bit. If only for a moment.   
“He did nasty things, Trip…Seriously nasty things…Then said it’d be his PTSD…PTSD my ass, he just searched for excuses to punish us for literally nothing.”

“I didn’t know he was violent…You never told me, did you?”

“No. He was awful, but he’s got a reputation and you don’t mess with him. Besides, I was a little boy, it took me fifteen years to only see that what he did was absolutely unjustified!”

“Did your ma never do something…?”

“Never. She didn’t dare. She cared for us, she loved us with all her heart and honestly, I think she hated what he did. But you don’t mess with him. And, as a woman, you shouldn’t think about it once.” Malcolm shook his head in frustration, his eyes still watering up once in a while. He remembered all those moments his mother had tried to care for him and Maddy, whenever their father had taken out his belt or made them walk over burning coals. He remembered the nagging pain, the terrifying screams from his little sister, the questions whenever someone at school noticed the bruises and burns. Images flashing before his eyes, reminding him of all the awful things he had never thought about as a child.  
“As a child I thought it was normal. I thought every father would do that, I thought it was just the disciplinary measures of military. Alright, I was confused that he used them on Maddy since there was no way she'd be in the military! But I didn’t question it…Never…”

“Well, your ma didn’t take personal charge of the situation, if she didn’t do a thing then how should you? You were a child, Mal…”

“I should have protected Maddy. Look at her, she’s a striking beauty, she’s successful in her business. But she has trouble trusting anyone. So many bad things happened to her because I didn’t protect her from him…” Malcolm hid his face in his hands, choking back another stream of tears. He finally said out loud what he had felt all the time; all that guilt, all that worry about her, all the fear she must have felt because he didn’t dare to disobey.  
“She got raped, Trip…She was seventeen, all pure and innocent…He had beat her that night, really bad…She took some of my vodka and got drunk as hell…Then there was this guy and minutes later she came in on me getting the booze, she-!”

Trip felt the body in his arms shake violently, a sob escaping his lover’s chest, painful, full of misery. He gently squeezed his hand pressed a kiss on his forehead, reassuring him. He hated, absolutely hated to see him in pain. But he knew it was one of those days that just needed time and pain-relief.

“Sh-she…She was bleeding like crazy, Trip…I don’t know what that bastard had done to her but she was bleeding like crazy…I couldn’t even hold her hand without her screaming in fear…”

“That is awful…I’m…I’m sorry, darling. But it wasn’t your fault!”

“Yes it was! I should have watched her, Trip, I should have stayed with her! We have that thing with alcohol in our family. Our father had it, I had it…And she had it too. Thank God we realized it early enough to stop her…” Trip felt absolutely helpless, he didn’t know what to do to make his partner believe that whatever happened to Madeline was not his fault. He didn’t know how to reassure Malcolm, how to help. All he knew was that his lover was shaking in pain, cold sweat running down his body, mixing up with salty tears.

“Mal, you can’t blame yourself-”

“Hell, yes, I can! She would have never started with that crap if she hadn’t seen me do it all the time…You know, our father messed her up but I was the one who showed her how to release it, how to let it out.”

“If you hadn’t shown her those ways she would have found another way. It doesn’t matter if it’s drinking or smoking or any other way, what matters is that you tried to stop her, that you cared enough when the damage had been done.” Something about the atmosphere had changed a lot within the past few minutes. Before, Trip had only sensed hatred and pure rage, the beast had been released, ready to kill. But now there was no beast, there was no anger. Only pain, fear, a vulnerable soul trying to deal with his past.  
_The hatred won’t be gone for long, though…_

“They had a saying…_Reeds are all the same, it’s in their blood_…Trip, they were right. Maybe I didn’t hurt her, but I left her, I turned my back and I didn’t care even though she was so vulnerable that night. I turned away when she needed me the most…I’m exactly like him…He really made me become a replica of himself…”

“Okay, hold on! Enough. First of all: That’s not true. Mal, you know that is not true. You are an amazing, individual, versatile and loving man, you are absolutely not like him! And, second…That should only make you hate him more, darling.”

“But I don’t even hate him right now. Trip. I should hate him for what he has done to us but right now, I can only…Gods, I hate myself for letting him in, for trusting him, for _worshipping _him, I just- I hate myself more than I might ever hate him…” Trip stood and knelt down in front of his lover, gently wiping the tears from his cheeks before pulling his chin up. For a brief second, there wasn’t much more than quiet comfort, grey eyes meeting blue, a moment of understanding and accepting.  
Trip had known about those feelings for a long time already, he had never doubted that, deep down, Malcolm didn’t care about his own life. Moreover, he had known that there was a lot more self-loathing than anybody would probably imagine. Still, not until this moment had he ever heard Malcolm say that one phrase; even while he told him and the captain about April 36’, there had been no hint of that one phrase, those three words…

“I know you do, darling. I know you’ve always done. But that’s just another accomplishment of him. Because I am pretty sure he hasn’t really praised you once, has he? Instead, he left you with scars and an open wound inside your heart. An open wound that, as far as I can guess, hasn’t healed yet.” Malcolm responded with an almost unrecognizable nod and a weak smile, his hand shaking as he felt Trip’s fingers entwining with his own.  
“See? Not only did he actively hurt you and Maddy, but he also left you hating yourself – because you weren’t what he wanted you to be and now you feel like you really have become like him. And neither is right, Mal…”

“Could it be you hate him even more than I do…?”

“Could be, yes. Because this man somehow managed to crush a little boy’s dreams before he could have them, then made his life a living hell and forced a role onto him which was impossible for said boy to take. Now that boy is a gorgeous, loving man with a sweet sense of humor and a long list of talents and qualities I couldn’t love any more…” This time when Malcolm started sobbing, Trip didn’t take it as hard. This time he knew those tears weren’t exclusively pain and fear, this time there were also tears of joy and relief. He sat back down next to his lover and pulled him closer, holding him for the rest of the night.  
He knew this wasn’t the end of it, the pain would stay for a little longer and he probably could never stop the self-hatred entirely. But once in a while he could tame the beast within and reassure the vulnerable soul, heal that broken heart, fix those scarred memories. It was going to be alright.


End file.
